Keystone (Gatewalkers) Read online

  He set the box on his cleared table and unwrapped it, then opened the lid to expose its contents. Bloodgrass. Bloodgrass only grew in soil where significant amounts of blood had been spilled, and it died quickly in the cooler climes of the north. Nothing else had the particular properties he needed.

  Rhys pinched out a measure of its contents. Three long, thin, dried blades of grass the rusty color of old blood. Merely touching them made his fingertips itch and sting. Fresh was more potent, but impossible to acquire.

  Rhys took his time powdering the three blades and preparing the rest of the components for his mixture. He told himself he worked slowly because he did not want to make a mistake. When it came time to let it simmer over a low flame, Rhys resisted the desire to stay and watch it. Instead, he took himself upstairs. He had other matters to attend to before the night was done.

  ***

  Night brought a deepening chill. Spring was not yet so advanced that winter would relinquish its grip once the sun descended. Most of the town settled to their suppers and their beds.

  Time to hunt.

  It had been three days since his last hunt and Rhys had no desire to be caught in the mountains with inadequate shelter during daylight hours. The longer he waited, he became more and more sensitive to the sun’s effects. After a week’s time, any sunlight at all would become harmful. Ten days after a hunt, the sunlight would cause serious burns after mere moments of exposure. Two weeks… he would never wait that long again.

  But first. Rhys’ purposeful stride took him to Alta’s center, officially named as the guild district though Alta boasted a scant few guilds. It was late for the shops, but Rhys had learned early that coin could open doors.

  He went to the secondhand clothing shop and convinced the owner to stay open a while longer. Rhys found several serviceable garments that should fit Charlotte reasonably well, along with a pair of shoes, and purchased them. Then he put the shop owner into an unknowing daze and drew his fill of blood from his wrist. The man would sleep it off and be none the wiser in the morning.

  ***

  It was not quite midnight when his feet took him back to the simmering potion to draw it off the fire with an iron hook.

  While it cooled, Rhys wiped out a fresh bowl and drew his knife from his belt. He pressed the blade to his wrist and scored it deeply enough that blood flowed. Rhys was no lover of self inflicted wounds, but for this test he would need more than a few reluctant drops of blood.

  When enough blood pooled in the bottom of the bowl, Rhys ran his tongue across the cut to seal it. In a few moments it would be a pale scar, and by morning it would vanish. Only the worst wounds and those scars he received before his transformation would linger on his vampiric flesh.

  Rhys ladled out a small measure of the cooling brew, careful not to spill the milky fluid or touch it with his bare skin. He held it over the bowl of blood. He realized he held his breath, anticipating, and made himself exhale. There was a chance that it would do nothing at all, even with the bloodgrass.

  There was a chance it could be everything he hoped and waited and searched for.

  Rhys dribbled the potion into the bowl, and set aside the ladle. Each droplet made a pale cloud in the dark blood. Rhys watched intently as the small clouds spread. He was not certain what he expected to see; perhaps some sign that the potion was working. Or some sign that it was not.

  He watched until his eyes became gritty and dry from not blinking. He watched until the potion vanished completely, then waited to be sure it had spread through the entire bowl. He could see no outward sign that the potion had done anything at all.

  Rhys took a breath, bracing himself for yet another failure in eight long years of failing. He touched his finger to the blood in the bowl. He felt no stinging, no itching, and no sign of the bloodgrass. Unable to put it off any longer, Rhys licked away the drops of blood from his fingertip, expecting to taste the sour bitterness of the vampire taint.

  His breath quickened, his chest tightening. Rhys tried another drop, to be sure his senses were not deceiving him. The blood was clean. Clean! A strange sound broke the silence in the room. Startled, Rhys recognized it as his own laughter. The blood was clean. Rhys had found it at last: the antidote to a natural born vampire’s venom.

  Rhys gripped the edge of the table, his nails digging crescents into the wood. To be free of this curse, no longer dependent upon the blood of others to survive. To live as a normal man. To be free to walk directly in the sun, any time he chose. To no longer fear the discovery of his secret. Rhys could barely fathom it. That life seemed so alien now. To think of what it could mean, not just to himself, but to others as well. Something strange, almost unrecognizable blossomed in his chest.

  Hope.

  For a real, normal future. As a man instead of a vampire. He could have it again by morning if he so chose.

  If all went well.

  That was the catch. The cleansing of his blood could kill him, as his initial transformation could have killed him. He had wrapped so much around this one potion for so long, but did he dare to use it?

  Did he want to use it?

  The thought gave him pause. Rhys had fought so fiercely against his nature after his transformation. He tried to suppress it, deny it, control it. He finally acquiesced to the facts of his new existence. Truly, he had not thought it possible to cleanse his blood again, even as he searched.

  Until now.

  If he drank the potion, if he cleansed his blood, his parasitic dependence would end, but so too would his enhanced strength and speed. He had come to depend upon his ability to see in the dark. The ability to occlude or command the thoughts of others had also saved his life in the past. To lose them – he balked at that.

  Terradi. Creatures that could defeat the High King’s elite. To face such an enemy, he would need more than the strength of a mere man.

  Rhys carefully funneled the antidote into three small vials, carefully wrapped them in padding, and stowed them in a belt pouch. Once he rescued Mae, then he would take his chances, and take the potion.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Almost Alice

  Charlie woke with her toes freezing cold. She pulled them up, curling under the blankets that had shifted in the night. Not furs, like she had unconsciously expected, but a pair of quilts. She could vaguely feel the rope supports under the thick mattress, sagging slightly under her weight. The pillow under her head smelled of old and dust, with a hint of smoke and musty herbs. She didn’t know how she had ended up in a bed.

  No, she knew how she must have ended up here. Rhys. She’d fallen asleep, and he must have carried her up.

  Charlie checked. Her clothes were untouched, only her shoes were taken off. She lay in a large four-poster bed, the curtains drawn save for a small crack from which light sliced in, a narrow beam across her torso. The air felt chilly.

  If she had spent the night in his bed, where had Rhys slept? But then, the dusty smell implied that this room wasn’t used much. Probably Rhys slept in the basement. Or maybe vampires only slept in the day. Or didn’t need to sleep.

  She could hear muffled noises, voices speaking, seagulls, and unfamiliar sounds she couldn’t put a source to. The sounds of a little sea town, awake and moving already. Whatever time it was.

  If her internal clock was correct, it was about 7 am. Probably well into the day for fishermen, fishmongers, cooks, housewives, and sailors. Charlie wanted to bury her head under the quilts and not think of such things.

  Charlie lay there for a while, replaying the previous day. Part of her wanted to curl up here and hide until Rhys brought back the Keystone and she could go home. It still felt so surreal.

  Charlie sat up, the quilts falling away, and with them their warmth. She rubbed her arms to warm them again. She hadn’t thought to actually ask, but judging from yesterday’s weather and how cold it was now she guessed it was probably early spring here. Or even mid spring.

  Charlie emptied the contents of her pockets. Poc
ket computer with headphones. Name lariat and ID card, completely useless in this world. Half a pack of gum. Pen. Mightier than the sword, right?

  The entirety of her earthly possessions now.

  Charlie picked up her pocket comp – its shape was imprinted in her hip where she’d slept on it – and turned it on. No signal, of course. She launched the video diary, and in a moment her own face looked back at her from the screen, pale and apprehensive, with sleep lines on her cheek. It also showed the headboard behind her; further proof that it was real, not collection of signals sent to her brain.

  “It’s all real,” she said out loud, her own voice startling in the quiet room. “I really don’t understand how, or what’s going on with this place, but…. I’m here. And it’s really, really freaky.” She recorded the events of the previous day, in as much detail as she could muster. She didn’t want to forget anything.

  Vampires existed. Pixies existed. Elves existed, and who knew what all else. Heck, maybe there were even real dragons somewhere in this world. Maybe that was where all the stories of fairies living under hills came from. Charlie found herself running her fingers over the faint purple scars on her wrist and forced herself to stop.

  When she ran out of tangled thoughts, she saved the file and turned off the video diary. She’d have to think about charging the battery soon. The pocket comp had solar panels, but she’d never needed to use them before. Pop it in its dock at the end of the day, and it was ready to go in the morning. She’d have to remember that she couldn’t do that anymore.

  She rose to her knees and pushed open the deep green bed curtains, tying them back with the cords there.

  Pallid sunlight shone from a window with thick, wavy glass, its shutters open and curtains tied back. If there were boards over it before, there was no sign of them now. The opposite wall had a fireplace, but it was empty. The walls were dark reddish brown paneled wood. A chest and a wardrobe of the same wood shared the wall with the door. A nightstand with a porcelain basin and pitcher sat by the bed, and a table with two chairs sat near the window. The room was also free of dust, but she was willing to wager that was a recent development for her benefit.

  Her sneakers sat on the floor at the end of the bed, pointing outward and unlaced, with her socks rolled neatly inside. Draped across the back of the chair were an off-white chemise and a brown dress. Charlie went over and picked them up. They were a touch big, obviously borrowed, but otherwise looked like they would fit. A pair of simple brown shoes rested on the floor under the chair.

  Charlie hesitated, not quite willing to give up the rumpled ‘cade uniform, and with it any last pretense at “normalcy.” Then again…. Charlie plucked at the hem of the bloodstained t-shirt. She resolutely stripped off the ruined uniform and donned the unfamiliar clothing. They turned out to be a better fit than she expected, and surprisingly comfortable. The shoes felt thin and loose on her feet though, and she traded them back for her “ye olde” socks and sneakers.

  It was about then that Charlie’s nose managed to discern the scent of cooking under the house’s ambient smells. Her stomach gurgled, suddenly deciding to twist painfully. When was the last time she had eaten? Oh. Yesterday’s disastrous lunch. Her stomach growled more insistently. It hadn’t complained the night before because of the shock of the situation, but now it seemed to want to make up for it with a vengeance.

  Charlie poked her head out the door.

  Light filtered up to the small hallway from the floor below. The rail of the curving stairs matched the dark paneling in the hall. All the dark wood should have given the place a gloomy haunted house effect, but there was a warmth to the color that made it feel homey. Albeit a home with a less than observant housekeeper. Grey cobwebs hung in almost every corner.

  Charlie descended the stairs to the round room and found that here too the shutters had been opened and the curtains pulled aside. The smells of fresh bread and something else came from the third door of the round room, now standing open.

  The room beyond proved to be a dining room with a long rectangular table and six chairs. Two tall, broad windows allowed sunlight in, revealing that here too had been freshly dusted and swept. A curio cabinet against one wall had one door open, revealing shelves of dishes. A second door in the room obviously led to the kitchen.

  The two pixies sat on the table, sharing a slice of brown bread drizzled with thick amber honey. They smacked their lips and licked their sticky hands with all evident delight.

  Charlie paused on the threshold of the dining room, not quite wanting to actively seek Rhys out, but her stomach insisted on action.

  “Oh, look,” Tom said cheerfully. “She is alive after all.”

  “We are very truly sorry about yesterday,” Lallia said earnestly. “Have some toast?” Lallia broke off a piece of their honey bread and held it out toward Charlie. It was about the size of Charlie’s thumbnail; probably a generous portion from Lallia’s perspective.

  “No, thank you,” Charlie said. “I’ll get my own.” She passed by the pixies and went through the kitchen door with a boldness she did not feel.

  ***

  The floor of the kitchen was sunk a good foot lower than the rest of the house, though the ceiling remained at the same level, allowing the room to be spacious. Three wide steps descended from the door. Walls and floor were all clean, unadorned stone; to help prevent fires Charlie supposed. There was a fireplace large enough to cook half a cow, as well as an oven, but only one table. The kitchen felt oddly wide and empty until Charlie realized there had probably been more tables, now moved to the basement. Thinking of which, where was –

  “Good morning,” Rhys said.

  Charlie jumped despite herself. She hadn’t noticed him standing utterly motionless by the table. His colorlessness blended into the grey stone surrounding him. As far as she could tell, he wore the same clothes as yesterday. But then, he did seem different in some subtle way. Younger, actually. Yes. Quite a bit younger. Maybe as much as fifteen years. There were far fewer wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, and his skin in general looked less thin and crinkled. There might have been more color to his –

  Charlie’s legs suddenly felt weaker. Vampire. Right. More blood, more color. Fewer wrinkles too, it seemed.

  “Good morning,” Charlie managed to answer. She took a deep breath. “Look, we got off to an awkward start yesterday.” She thrust out her hand. “Charlie Donahue, Manager on Duty for the Virtual Reality Arcade in Apple Blossom City Mall.”

  Carefully deliberate, making no sudden motions, Rhys set down the knife in his hand and crossed to grasp her wrist. His hand was warmer than yesterday, though still cooler than hers. “Rhys son of Gwalchmai. Death Wind of Alta Mercenary Guild.” Charlie grasped his wrist in return.

  Charlie’s stomach growled loudly.

  A ghost of a smile flashed across Rhys’ face, quickly enough that she might have imagined it. He turned back to the table, where he had been spreading some sort of butter on thick slices of toasted bread. “I expected you to wake hungry.”

  He finished spreading the butter, then took a bowl from the table and ladled in stew from a small cauldron in the fireplace. He set the bowl on a plate with a few slices of the bread and handed the lot to Charlie, along with a spoon. He took a second bowl and started ladling stew into it. A second plate of bread rested on the table.

  Charlie settled on the kitchen stairs to eat. Rhys seemed content to lean against the wall, holding his plate and bowl. By unspoken consent the more formal setting of the dining room was left to the pixies.

  Rhys must have felt her curious eyes, because he said, “I do need to eat. As anyone else does.”

  Blushing, Charlie looked down at her stew, picking up a bread slice and starting to nibble. The bread was dry, and coarser than the white bread she was used to, but the creamy butter had softened it where it melted. She cast him another curious look when she recognized the strong taste of garlic. He dipped his bread in the stew and was eating contented
ly.

  “Aren’t you…” Charlie began without thinking, but stuffed her toast in her mouth to stop the rest of the stupid question.

  Rhys returned her curious look. “Yes?” His brows lifted slightly.

  Charlie chewed and swallowed. “Aren’t vampires supposed to be allergic to garlic?”

  The flash of a smile darted across his face again. “Where did you hear that?”

  Charlie shrugged. “It is just a common vampire thing… on my world.” It still felt strange to say it.

  Rhys pointedly held up his garlic butter toast and took a large bite, fangs shearing down into it. Charlie stifled a giggle.

  Charlie poked at the thick, pale contents of her bowl. It wasn’t like any stew she’d ever seen, though it did have chunks of potato in it. It also had chunks of orangish, odd textured… meat?

  “It is clam chowder,” Rhys said. “It is beneficial for restoring the blood.”

  Startled, Charlie let the contents of her spoon plunk back into the bowl. “Whoops. Erm. Thanks?”

  She’d never had clam chowder before. If it was good for blood production, seaside towns must be great for vampires. Clam chowder and toast for breakfast. The blood loss special.

  Charlie demolished the clam chowder, using the bread to clean the sides of the bowl. It was thick and creamy, and she liked the potato chunks but wasn’t so thrilled about the rubbery texture of the clam bits. She nibbled the rest of the bread more slowly.

  What was her family doing by now? It was Sunday – on Charlie’s world at least. On an ordinary Sunday, Eva would be prodding kids and husband out of bed for church. Would she let the kids “play heathen” because their aunt was missing? When would she be reported missing to the police? Had Eva told their father yet?

  It felt so strange thinking of ordinary life moving forward without her while she sat in a vampire’s kitchen eating garlic toast.

  “I’m sorry about your family,” Charlie said, and Rhys tensed, the relaxed atmosphere of the morning vanishing. “I don’t know what happened to you, and I know it’s not my business, but I’m sorry anyway. It must have been really awful.”